Sick-ley
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: A mysterious persona leaves Stan's unconscious body on Ford's doorstep before he even considers the idea of reaching out. Stan is unwell and tries to keep it from his newly reunited twin. This was my first fic, and I wrote most of it at either two or three in the morning, so... Tw: Sickness, blood, not very graphic though.
1. Surprise!

Stanford sat up, breathing hard. He could have sworn he heard something outside. Standing up he walked quietly to the door, hand automatically swooping down towards the crossbow beside it.

He had been laying on the couch, trying to both rest and stay awake at the same time, an accomplishment seldom sought for, when he heard it. A muffled thump.

Tensed for any possible outcome, Ford flung open the door. The cold wind swept over him as he gazed outdoors. The first thing he noticed was a car, a strangely familiar car that definitely did not belong to him. The second thing was the red lump on the ground at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch.

Ford narrowed his eyes in suspicion, could this be a ploy? A clever trick by Bill? Reaching into his trench coat he brought out a flashlight and made his way towards the body slowly. Using the tip of the still loaded crossbow, he tipped the body over. He gasped.

Kneeling down he quickly checked his brother's eyes for the telltale yellow glint of Bill. When he found none he sighed in relief but stayed alert. Questions flew through his mind as he dragged his brother's unconscious body into his house. What was Stanley doing here? Why was he unconscious? How did he know were Ford lived? Why was he so light? Wait…

Ford dragged his brother into the house and dropped him with a thump onto the only cleared surface in the house- his couch. Ford sat at his brother's feet and studied him closely. Stanley was definitely worse for wear. He was skinnier than Ford ever remembered him being and smelled like he hadn't had a shower in at least a year, not that Ford was any better. Jumping off the couch, Ford realized he had left the door open and quickly moved to close it.

What was he going to do? He is trying to disable a portal that could destroy the universe, is slowly falling into insanity and his no good brother shows up, unconscious no less, on his front porch! He couldn't handle this! No, maybe he could drop Stanley off at a hospitable or-

Ford lurched out of his thoughts as a groan emanated from his brother. Ford was at his side in an instant. Ford spoke softly, despite his nearly paralyzing stress and paranoia.

" Stanley? Are you awake?"

Ford watched as Stan blinked back into reality. When Stanley seemed to realize who was in front of him, his eyes glinted with recognition and _joy._

" F-For...Ford?" Stan sounded _exhausted._

Stan tried to sit up but fell back with a huff of defeat. Ford was battling with annoyance and concern and curiosity. He ended up with a strange mix of all three. " Stanely, what are you doing here? How did you find me? Why were you unconscious?"

Ford stood and started pacing as his questions came faster and faster.

" Why are you so...nevermind. Is that your car? Why-"

Stan cut him off with a sharp huff.

Ford was effectively distracted and turned his attention back to Stan who looked like he was trying to say something.

Stan's eyes kept fluttering open and shut like he was struggling to stay awake, his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he managed to say anything.

" S-S-Sixer." He stuttered out the old nickname in barely more than a whisper before it seemed to tax what little energy he had left and his eyes slipped back shut. Ford started to panic, what if Bill…?

" Stanley? Stan!? No, don't you dare fall asleep! C'mon it isn't safe! Just…"

Ford watched, both relieved and impressed (Not that he would tell stan that) as Stan's eyes flickered back open, looking slightly annoyed, but brown. Not that awful yellow…

Ford sighed in relief and went back to questioning him. " Are you alright? Can you speak? Do you need something?"

Ford wasn't exactly going to give his brother anything big, but if he needed a meal and a place to stay for the night...well maybe not the latter, but he could spare a meal, surely?

Ford frowned as he saw he brother seemed to have an epiphany of sorts, his face falling into one of recollection and panic as he tried to sit up again.

Ford pushed him back down with a grunt. " Stan, it's obvious you aren't in any state to move just now, could you just explain what is going on?"

Ford was freaking out, Bill didn't have to have done something to make Stan so panicked, right?

Stan coughed as he fell back onto the couch. The cough was loud and wet and made Ford wince in sympathy, Stan must be sick, Ford thought.

Stan tried to speak again but ended up coughing again. Ford waited patiently for him to stop and was surprised when Stan managed to speak, and even give him a small smile. What was going on?

" Hey, Sixer. I-cough-thought you lived in-cough-Oregon?" Stan's voice was still only a whisper, but he seemed to be getting more stable by the second.

Ford's brows furrowed. What? " I do live in Oregon, Stanley. That's where we are. Gravity Falls Oregon. You are in my house."

Stan's brows raised in disbelief. " What are ya sayin' Ford? That ya kidnapped me? I was in Mexico last I checked." He coughed again, one arm around his mouth and the other around his chest. The hacking coughs sent his entire body trembling, and he nearly fell off the couch. Ford instinctively went to help him before thinking better of it. He was getting worried now though. That was a nasty cough…

" Stanley are you alright? I'm just as confused as you are. I found you on my front porch."

Ford didn't think it was possible for Stan's eyebrows to go any higher. Ignoring the pain it took to talk, Stan voiced his disbelief.

" What?! Look, Ford, If ya missed me there are better ways to go about seein' me again then kidnap, ya know?"

" Stanley! Stop. Listen closely. I did not kidnap you. And please answer my question, are you alright? That cough doesn't sound too great-"

Stan cut him off quickly. Too quickly. " I'm fine."

Now it was Ford's turn to give him a disbelieving glare. " Liar."

Stan grinned. " That's me. The family fraud. Now if you'll excuse me I need to get goin'..."

Stan made a move to get up again, but Ford pushed him back down with an exasperated huff. What was he doing? Isn't this what he wanted? To get rid of- no. He needed answers.

" look, Stanley, First off, you are not well. That much is obvious. Secondly-"

" You sure are fond of lists," Stan muttered. Ford ignored him.

" Neither of us is sure how you got here and I'm not leaving until I get some answers. Now tell me once more, are you alright? What hurts? Is it just the cough? Why were you in Mexico? What was the last thing you remember doing before you woke up?"

Stan relaxed into the cushions. It was gonna be a long day.


	2. Stories

" So a dream demon, huh?"

Ford had decided that the only logical conclusion was to inform Stanley of his predicament if he was going to be staying for any amount of time in the house. Stanley was disgruntled at being held 'captive' but probably realized it was for the best. Now Ford was waiting to see if Stan actually believed his story, it was a little far-fetched if he was being honest with himself.

" Yes, Bill Cipher. He can enter your mind, but only if you are sleeping or you allow him entry, NEVER shake his hand. EVER."

Stan nodded. " Alright."

Ford scowled. " You think I'm lying, don't you?"

Stan shook his head vigorously, or rather, as fast as he could in his current state. " No! No, I believe you, I'm just not surprised or anything. That's what you expected right? For me to be shocked or somethin'? Well, I'm just not. I do believe you though, no one could make this up."

Ford glared suspiciously at his twin. " Why are you not surprised? Have you met Bill before?" Ford started to panic again and Stan was quick to subdue his worries.

" Calm down! No, I haven't met him. I believe you because I've seen some weird crap before, that's all."

Ford raised an eyebrow in question. " Weird like what? It would have to be pretty strange to make this seem normal, or even unsurprising."

Stan coughed a laugh, " Yeah. Anyways-"

" Don't change the subject Stanley."

Stan looked annoyed at being called out but complied none the less. " Fine. It's just a long story, ya know? And I don't really feel like tellin' it..."

" Stanley! Please, anything here could be important as to how you got here. You still haven't told me what you last remember doing. Just start there."

Stan sighed, long and loud before muttering, " Fine. Let's see. I was in Mexico, and I was in bed at a motel. That's it."

Ford sighed too. This wasn't the Stan he remembered. Stan would embellish any story, big or small and had a tendency to smile the entire time, whether it was appropriate for the story or not. The Stan he recalled could never keep his mouth shut. Now he wouldn't even open it.

" Go on. I did tell you my life story. I made big mistakes Stanley and I don't know who I can trust at the moment, but I'm trusting you. Please. Tell me everything, it's vitally important to be well informed on all sides if we are going to figure out what happened."

Something seemed to change in Stan's face. The hard stubbornness wore away slightly, revealing more of the joy he had first spotted when Stan woke up.  
Ford wasn't sure what he'd said, but it seemed to have worked.

" Alright, but don't make me get into specifics, it ain't THAT important."

Ford settled down, it was going to be a long day.

 **Me: Hey Ford!**

 **Ford: Yes Carmen?**

 **Me: Do ya like the story?**

 **Ford: I'm not sure that's how I would have reacted, but it is acceptable.**

 **Me: STANLEY!**

 **Stan: What?**

 **Me: Ford said he liked my story! Eeeee!**

 **Stan: WHAT?! That old fart said he actually liked something? Naw, he must be drugged or somethin'.**

 **Ford *looks to the audience*: What is wrong with these two?**

 **Please feel free to review!**


	3. Stan is stubborn

**Hello, it's me! The stuff in _Italics is_ Stan's direct and sometimes darker thoughts, just so you know, this might get dark so TW: Depression, Violence? It's Stan Pines, that should really be all you need to know. ( I'm a happy person, so...not to dark then.) Also, Stan doesn't swear in this, but only because I don't swear either so yeah. Probably some self-hate too. **

Stan glared at the wall, wishing he could kick it. Even though the wall didn't do anything wrong. What was he going to do? _If I don't figure out something soon, I am dead meat._ He had a lot of work to do and was on a very strict schedule. If the shipment failed to come when Rico expected it...

He didn't want to think about the implications of that thought.

Sighing, Stan shifted his weight around, trying to get more comfortable on the couch his brother had dropped him on. He felt like it was practically swallowing him.

Some days, Stan was grateful he had lost so much weight. It made him open to a lot more hiding places that he previously couldn't fit in.

Today it was just annoying.

Swinging his legs over the end of the couch, Stan ignored the screaming pain that threatened to overtake him as he silently padded towards what he assumed to be the kitchen.

The day before he had been unceremoniously dumped at Ford's doorstep, Stan had been taking care of a 'friend' of his. He had come out of it on top, of course, but not without some incredible bruising. _And literally being stabbed in the back, the buttface_. In any case, it left him incredibly exhausted, and hungry. _Nothing you aren't used to_ _._

After Stan answered some of Ford's questions. ( Stan tried really hard not to tell Ford just how much trouble he was in, or how breathing hurt like heck.) Ford had gone down into what he called the basement, and what Stan called ( in his mind ) the nerd lab. It was late at night, and Ford, after Stan promised to try and stay awake, had told him to rest. _How does that even freaking work?_ Rest seemed to be eluding Stan Pines, so the next best thing, in his own mind, was food.

While rummaging through the cabinets, Stan managed to locate a single jar of peanut butter. _What has Sixer been eating? He's allergic to peanuts.  
_ Trying to count his blessings, rather than question them, Stan reached up towards it...

Falling to his knees, Stan attempted to stifle his involuntary cry of pain. Then tried to stifle the need to cough. _Really need to treat that stab wound with more than just duck tape._

Eyes watering, _why is it so dusty in here?,_ Stan clung to the counter as he stood up. His legs threatened to fall beneath him as he got to his feet and climbed into one of the two kitchen chairs. _Maybe I should have told Ford- no. He doesn't need any more stress. I can handle myself. Get it together Pines._ Stan scolded himself, he was stronger than this, surely!

Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, Stan got back to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his back where the wound screamed in protest and managed to swipe the jar from it's hiding place. _What I do for food._ Turning around, Stan took a deep breath and shuffled back towards the couch. _Pathetic, can't even walk straight._

Lying on the couch, Stan started to open his newly acquired jar of food, when he heard it.

"sssssssss"

Stan stiffened at a hiss that emanated from the other room. Reacting on instinct, Stan slipped on his knuckle busters and slid off the couch. _Ow._

As the adrenaline pumped through his veins, the pain dulled and Stan immediately went to the door towards the noise and felt the wall for the light switch. Can't fight if he couldn't see his enemy properly, could he?

 _Click_

Light flooded the room and Stan found himself face to face with his brother. _Shoot. That was dumb._ As his mind found no discernable threat the adrenaline drained out of him and left him with nothing. Nothing but darkness.


	4. Sick, and Stan is still stubborn

**HI! Me again. So I just wanted to thank the three people who actually reviewed, like oh my gosh I did not expect that so, thank you! Also feel free to leave ideas/prompts ( OR A FREAKING TITLE IDEA, HELP. ) in the reviews or just PM me, I don't really care which. Also, Stan is very sick. Not sure if that should be a warning or something, but he's like super sick so yeah.**

" ...ley! Stanley! Are you alright!?"

Stan groaned. Everything hurt. Prying one eye open to a slit, Stan managed to locate his brother, who was currently at his side, spewing questions faster than Stan could comprehend them. _No no no no NO! Stop asking me things! Go back to your lab nerd!_

He was currently lying on his stomach, his face pressed against the rough wood of the floor. Ignoring his twin, who was probably chewing him out for moving or something, Stan brought his arms underneath him and pushed.

His arms shook dangerously and Stan quickly moved his legs underneath them before they failed him completely.

His entire body was trembling now and Stan heard a faint, involuntary whimper escape him. The noise tickled his already abused throat and sent him back to the ground, hacking loud and hard. _I really am sick. Dangit. I'm going to die either way then._ The coughs continued to tear his throat to shreds as he thought.

Dying didn't sound too bad right then.

Stan just hoped the sickness killed him before Rico did.

Overwhelmed by the sheer amount of pain that wracked his body, Stan only realized he had been moved when he felt himself lying on something soft. _Back to the couch._

After another moment, the coughing died down and Stan didn't bother to try and stop the aching moan that left him. He could feel the many muscles he strained as he had coughed. _Wait, what is that?_ The lone thought pierced through the pain as he felt a trickle of something wet and warm go down his back.

 _Oh._

* * *

 **Stan: WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME, I DON"T WANNA DIE!**

 **Me: Mwhahaha!**

 **Ford: I'm leaving now. you're freaking me out.**

 *** A door appears where Ford turns to leave and all three stare at it until Mabel pops out.***

 **Mabel: HI! *Hits Carmen with attack glitter***

 **Me: Aaaaaaahhh It burns!**

 **Mabel: That's what you get for hurting my grunkle. *Grunkle stan and Mabel High five and Ford just watches***

 **Ford: Okay. Now I'm leaving. * Leaves ***

 **Me: I deserved that.**

 **Stan: Yes. Yes, you did.**

 **( I'm having way to much fun. Please review! I am so not a serious person, how did this get so dark? Oh right. IT"S STAN PINES, that's why.**


	5. (Don't) Help me I'm dying

**Okay, I know I said this would be out yesterday, but better late than never, right? Let's do this! Ford's Pov. Tw: Blood? He's really sick guys.  
Ford is bad at being in denial, at least in this fic. He's really good at it in the show. I'm not very good at angst, but I hope you enjoy!**

Ford froze as Stanley barged into the room, looking for all the world as if he was ready for a fight. Ford stared. The moment seemed to stretch into an eternity as Ford watched recognition flash in Stan's _brown_ eyes and abruptly fall to the floor.

" Stanley! Stanley! Are you alright?" Ford ran to his side and went to help him up, but instead fell back as Stanley started to get up on his own.

" Oh, thank goodness- Stanley?" Stan started to tremble and emitted a low whine before starting to cough loud and hard. _He is really sick. Oh no, I can't handle this- oh get it together Pines, you can take care of your sick brother, I'm sure he'll be fine anyways._

Stanley was back on the floor. Ford crouched down and scooped him up, _how did he_ _get so light?_ He headed towards the couch before deciding against it and brought Stan to his bedroom instead. _He'll heal quicker if he's resting properly, and it's not like I use my bed anyways._ Ford winced in sympathy at the groan Stan made as the coughing died down. _He must have pulled dozens of muscles, coughing so hard._

Placing Stan carefully on the bed, Ford slowly pulled his hands from underneath him and glanced at his hands when he felt something warm and wet there.

 _What the heck? Is that...? No, it couldn't be..._

" Stanley?"

Stan didn't answer.

Ford spoke softly, more of a comfort to himself than Stanley. " Hey, I'm going to take your jacket off, alright? You'll be more comfortable."  
It was a half-truth, Ford wanted to see what that liquid was and why is it was on Stan's back. _Please don't be what I think it is._

Pulling the jacket off, Ford was slightly concerned when Stan made no effort to stop him. Throwing the filthy jacket into a corner of the room, Ford examined his patient.

Stan was skinnier than he had previously assessed. Ford noted the strange lines on his arms. _They don't have to be scars, right? Maybe they're just pink tattoos. Sounds like something Stan would do. Who am I kidding? WHY DOES HE HAVE SO MANY SCARS?_

Ford was definitely not crying. Nope.

Turning Stanley over on his stomach, Ford found what had caused the blood streak on his hand. Because it was definitely blood. Ford gagged. Then gasped. Then gagged again.

There was a cut, hastily bandaged with what looked like an old shirt and duck tape. _Whattheheckisgoingonwhywhywhyhowwhystani'mgoingtokillyouifyousurvivethisisprobablyinfectedyoumoron._

Taking a deep breath, Ford tried to steady himself. " Stanley? Can you hear me?"

Stan groaned out something that sounded suspiciously like, 'go away, Nerd.'

"Stanley, this isn't a joke! Now, I'm going to go find the first aid kit, and as soon as I fix this up your explaining how you got it. In fact, I want to know how you got each and every one of these scars, understand?"

"Mmph."

"Good."

* * *

 **Not my best work, but I hope you liked it. I liked the idea that Stan had a bunch of scars from his criminal homeless days, it's not canon, but I don't care.**

 **Stan: Why do you enjoy torturing me? What did I ever do to you?**

 **Me: You broke my heart like a billion times. You are an angsty boy.**

 **Stan: A what? Nevermind. I'm gonna make a sandwich. *Leaves***

 **Ford: Carmen, why would I think they were pink tattoos? That seemed random and not at all the first thing I would think of.**

 **Me: I borrowed that. There was this fic, I forgot what it was called and you were staring in the mirror at yourself, looking at your scars from the portal and Mabel walks in and says. " Cool tattoos Grunkle Ford! You even made them pink!" It was so beautiful I had to incorporate it somehow.**

 **Please review! I'll update sometime later this week, probably tomorrow. I don't have a life.**


	6. So that happened

**Yay! Finally found some time to update. So, still not sure how I want this to go, so if you have any Ideas feel free to P.M me. Thanks to all who reviewed! I don't know if I need to post Trigger warnings anymore, it's a sickfic. guys, c'mon. You know what's goin' on.**

Ford winced as his brother hissed in pain. Ford had gotten the first aid kit and managed to relocate his brother to the bathtub where he was now slowly pouring peroxide on the wound.

After a short examination, Ford had reason to believe the wound was infected and took immediate action against it. He nearly retched at the loud sizzling of the peroxide as it cleansed the laceration on his twin's back. After the sizzling died down, Ford rinsed the wound out and ran over it with a warm rag. _He should really see a doctor about this._

" Stanley?"

Stan grunted.

" This-this is really bad. I-I mean, you should probably go to a hospital-"

" NO!" Stan, despite the absolute agony that was his life at the moment, yelled out and nearly jumped out of the tub. " I will not go to those-those, no." Stan lowered his voice as if he hadn't realized he been yelling. The shaking started up again when Stan attempted to stand and Ford had to push him back down, again.

Ford's heart nearly beat out of his chest and he rubbed it in an attempt to calm down as he tried to understand Stan's strangely panicked reaction at the mention of a hospital.

Stan's coughing started up again and Ford patiently waited for it to end before asking what the heck just happened.

" Are you alright? Why can't we go to a hospital? I'm not equipped to deal with this Stanley!"

Stan shook his head weakly, the fight all gone. He didn't want to risk another hacking by speaking. Ford sighed. Great. Just great.

* * *

Stan knew it wasn't fair to Ford. He knew, but he couldn't do anything about it.

If he stayed here, he might die of an infected stab wound.

If he went to the hospital, he would be caught and die in a much more painful way.

Stan hated this. He didn't want to burden Ford anymore. Whatever thing dumped him on Ford's doorstep could go die in Stan's opinion. He would have rathered to die fast in his car than die slowly in his brothers care, but life wasn't fair, was it? Especially not to Stan Pines. Never to him.

Stan managed to use up a reserve of energy he didn't know he had during his outburst, and he regretted it. But he needed Ford to understand. Hospital = bad. Very bad. He couldn't pay the bills anyway and there was no way in heck he was going to let his brother pay for them. They stayed in silence after that until Ford was done bandaging his back.

" Stanley? I'm going to go find you a new shirt, just, uh, stay here." Ford left and Stan wanted to roll his eyes after him. 'Stay here?' where was he going to go? He could barely move his head, much less walk away. _Trust me, if I could, I would._ Stan tried not to feel too uncomfortable as Ford helped into a black t-shirt. _At least it's clean._ That done, Ford helped him back into the bed. Help as in completely carry him. _This is so debilitating. Wait, since when was I in his bed? I thought I was on the couch. You know what? Whatever._

Stan relaxed as he was laid back on the bed. Closing his eyes, he nearly drifted off right then. Had it not been for the aching coming from every muscle in his body and the stinging of his cut, oh, and the awkward looking twin staring at him, Stan almost would have been comfortable. After another moment of blessed silence, Stan heard Ford speak up again.

" Okay Stanley, I'm going to go, but I'll be back, um, later. I don't think cipher will bother with you since you know not to make any deals with him and you're so weak in this state anyway your nearly useless to him as a vessel, so I think you're good to sleep if you want."

Stan would have grunted if he could, but he couldn't, so he didn't.

Ford left, leaving Stan to his thoughts.

 _What sort of dumb name is Bill Cipher anyway? Why would Ford trust a talking triangle? That was dumb too. In fact, all of this is like some sort of bad movie. Or book. Or any sort of fictional media._

 _What am I gonna do? My brother is in deep with some space chip, I can't leave this house, even if I wasn't feeling like a pile of ma's burnt pancakes. Too many risks, with Rico and his goons searchin' for me. Or at least, they will be when I don't show up._

Stan wanted to sigh but didn't want to agitate his throat again. So instead he let himself relax until he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

 **Oh my gosh, so yes, he's sick cause of the infected stab wound, and they didn't get around to how he got it, I think that will be the next chapter, but anyway,  
So Stan doesn't want to bother his brother anymore, doesn't want to get on the wrong side of Rico, had lots of scars from who knows where, is dying of an infected cut, wants to help his brother with the evil Space demon, and can't do anything about anything. AAAAAAAHHHH! What am I writing?!**

 **Stan: I don't know, but you are absolutely evil. I can handle scars, I can handle being in a hopeless situation, but being babied by Ford? Nope. I'm done. I am never coming back to read this, you are way too weird. See ya. *Leaves***

 **Ford: Stanley! Come back! There's nothing wrong with being sick. * Follows Stanley out of the room.***

 **me: Mwhahaha! Hope you enjoyed, please feel free to review and don't hesitate to criticize or send me some ideas here people. ( Do you enjoy these little end cards with Stan and Ford? Cause I do, but if you want me to stop, I will. Or you could just not read it, but some of the information is important like I'll be updating again soon, and I will implement your ideas if you give me any.) Thanks for reading!**


	7. So that happened, part 2

**So, everyone, I got a title for this story, finally! The amazing Shadow-phoenix gave it to me, so all the credit goes to them. I am so freaking happy I finally have a title. I hope the title change didn't make this story to hard to find. Here we go! Chapter 7. If this sucks it's cause I've got writer's block, so all I want to do is write stupid fluff, but for you, I shall battle through it. This will probably be really rambly, I'm really sorry about that.**

Stanley was tired. So, so tired. His entire body ached. Rolling over, he stifled a groan. Gosh, this sucked. Being sick sucked. In fact, everything just flat out sucked, didn't it? Opening his eyes, he didn't bother stifling a second groan, noticing no one was in the room. No one as in Stanford. Where was Ford, actually? He wanted to get up to check, he had been in bed far too long anyway, his legs all stiff from lack of use, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to. _C'mon Pines, you can do this._

Stan braced himself for the oncoming agony. Quickly, yet stiffly, he managed to throw his legs over the edge of the bed. Now all he had to do was sit up. Stan took a deep breath. _You need to stretch your legs, you're gonna get weak, resting so much._

Stan took his physical strength very seriously. He had to, the way he lived, it was his only source of income. Every day he would go through a rigorous work out to keep his strength up. He tried his best to keep his muscles mass up too, in the beginning, but with the number of calories he burned every day and the limited portions of food he got in the same time frame, it just wasn't feasible. Hence his now more wiry build. He was still strong, he was just...skinnier. The muscles and chub that made him such a good middleweight boxer all but gone.

Stan winced as his bare feet hit the cold wood floor. Trying to ignore the pain in his chest and pretty much everywhere else, Stan relished in the satisfying pops in his back as he slowly got to this feet. He wobbled slightly and nearly fell back on the bed. His eyes watered and burned. A headache he didn't even realize he had made itself known as he tried to take a step forward.

He succeeded. Barely.

Keeping his hands on the walls to steady himself, Stan managed to make it to the door. Turning the knob, Stan walked out of the room into the dark hallway. _Sixer is so gonna kill me._

Stan walked down the hallway towards a flight of stairs. _Ford carried me upstairs? I must be lighter than I thought. Or Ford's stronger than I thought. Not the first time I've been wrong about something like that._ It was true, he had underestimated plenty of people on the streets.

Stan decided, since no one was around, he would take the easy way out. Sitting on the top step, Stan let himself slide down the stairs. He landed on the bottom with a light, _thump!. Ow._

 _Since I'm down here...food here I come._ Stan realized after he had left his bedroom, he had failed to ingest any food, even after the struggle he had gone through to obtain that one jar of peanut butter. _Maybe I'll make Poindexter find something edible, I may be stupid, but I'm not stupid enough to go through that again._

To be honest, Stanley barely felt the open wound anymore, Sixer had done a good job. _Hope he doesn't really expect me to tell him how I got it. Doesn't need to have my nightmares._

After what seemed like an eternity, Stan made it to the kitchen. Although, now he wasn't sure what to do.

He had already been through the cupboards and the fridge and they contained little in the ways of actual food. Maybe Sixer had a stash of something edible somewhere, but where it was, was the mystery. Stan could hardly care what he ate at this point. He supposed he could go back and retrieve the peanut butter, but that seemed more like a last resort. The thought of eating straight out of a jar of peanut butter made his stomach flip uncomfortably, goodness knows why.

Where was Ford, anyhow? Probably in his nerd lab, Stan reasoned. Where was that, actually? Stan thought he remembered something about a bookcase...  
Ford wouldn't make a secret passage, would he?

Who was he kidding? Of course, he would.

Shuffling his way back towards the main room, Stan found what he assumed to be the door to Ford's nerd lab. Scanning the titles, Stan found what he thought was the only fiction book on the shelf- _A man on the Sea-_ and tugged it.

The bookshelf swung open with a hiss. ( Stan tried not to think about the title and why that particular book was the lever.) Welp, now he knew where that sound came from earlier. Stan looked at the stairs leading into what felt like some sort of cliche villain laboratory. They seemed to almost taunt him. Swallowing the idea of even trying to brave the steps, Stan prepared his ragged throat for use.

"FORD!"

Ugh, his voice was so scratched up and pathetic, like a screaming newborn kitten. Stan was kept from berating himself further by the sound of hurried footsteps. Stan leaned away from the doorway and leaned against the wall beside it, waiting for Ford to come up, scold him, then finally get around to finding some food in this place.

When Ford did come up, he looked frightened and immediately started asking questions, dang that was annoying, but so _Ford_.

Ford looked around for a moment before his gaze finally landed on Stan, who was sitting against the wall. Ford gasped.

" Stanley?! What are you doing out of bed?! You should be resting! How did you open this door?"

At the last question, Stan snorted. Ford looked confused for a moment before settling on annoyed. " What's so funny?"

Stan, after abusing his throat earlier, whispered. " You only had one fiction book on there Sixer, it-cough-wasn't too hard to-cough-figure out."

Ford looked mildly surprised, before going right back to being annoyed. He tapped his foot impatiently. " That as it may be, you haven't answered my other inquiries. Why are you up? Are you feeling better? It's only been a few hours..."

Stan huffed and Ford refocused on him. Ford looked slightly more compassionate as his gaze returned to Stanley, who was hoping that had nothing to do with the way his eyes were burning.

Stan whispered again, " Food Ford. You can-cough-live on-cough-coffee, but most other people need actual meals."

Ford's eyes widened. " Crap! I'm so sorry Stanley, I forgot, I haven't really gone shopping in a while, but I'm sure there's something here." Ford turned to leave, before realizing Stan was still on the floor. Stan, who watched Ford turn away, was already trying to get up on his own. Ford was having none of it.

" Oh no, you don't! I don't want to have to keep fixing you up because you refused to lie still, you already opened up that wound once! I don't want to repeat that Stanley. By the way, you still owe me an explanation on how you acquired such a horrid laceration."

While he spoke, Ford moved to pick Stanley up again. Stanley knew it was stupid, but being more lucid than he was before, he squirmed. Uncomfortable in being completely at another's mercy. _At least I'm not at Rico's mercy, the worst Ford is capable of is leaving me again..._

Ford rolled his eyes. " Stanley, stop it. I'm going to put you back on the couch and go find something for you to eat. Now that you seem more lucid than before, I expect explanations after we eat, understand?"

Stan remembered similar words being spoken right before he passed out. Stan grinned, " Aw, you do care." The words were meant to be taunting, but in his weak ragged voice, they almost sounded sincere. Ford's eyes darkened in some emotion...sadness? Regret?

Ford didn't respond, but gently placed him on the couch and made it to the doorway before turning around. " Stay. I'll be back."

* * *

Ford searched every cupboard for something edible. After about five minutes of fruitless searching, he gave up. He couldn't even find that random jar of peanut butter he found the day he moved in. Ford hoped Stan hadn't eaten it. It was ten years old. Ford had never gotten around to throwing it out. Ford wasn't actually sure of the reason behind that, he couldn't even ingest peanut butter.

Finding the cupboards empty, Ford moved on to the fridge, only to have the same results. Completely empty.

Ford was stumped. He couldn't go shopping, it took long enough to drive to town, but to have to walk... and with the weather like it was? Impossible.

Wait.

There was a car in his yard when he found Stanley, wasn't there? Running out of the kitchen, Ford went to the living room window, ignoring Stan's questioning look. There it was! The car he had seen. It was strangely familiar.

" Stanley?"

Stan huffed.

Ford wasn't looking at him, but at the car, formulating a plan.

" Is that your car? The StanleyMobile?"

This time Ford did turn around and Stan nodded.

" Do you have the keys for it?"

Stan nodded again. He had noticed them as soon as he had woken up the first time, still resting safely in the pocket of his jeans. Stan seemed to understand what Ford wanted and pulled them out.

Ford walked over and took them. " Thank you, Stanley. I'm going to go shopping, I should be back soon. I didn't realize how depleted my supplies were! I didn't even find that ten-year-old jar of peanut butter..."

Ford walked out the door, locking it behind him. He didn't see the look of pure disgust on Stan's face as he left.

* * *

 **Haha! So that happened. I'm sorry about this chapter, kinda stupid. But I was really stressed out today and needed to vent a bit. I thought the whole "Ten-year-old peanut butter" Thing would be funny. It made me laugh anyway.**

 **Ford: Who said I was allergic to peanuts?**

 **Me: I did.**

 **Stan: Welp, you heard her. It gotta be true since she _said_ so. **

**Me: Cut it out, Stan!**

 **I hope you enjoyed this, Thanks to shadow phoenix and everyone who reviewed!**

 **I hope you all know this is my first fic ever so if it sucks that's why. I made it out of the blue and all of these chapters are made on the spot.**

 **I barely even edit it before posting so yeah. I kept redoing this chapter though, because I wasn't sure what to write and it turned into this, anyway, I should go. Watch out for the update!**


	8. Twin rulez

**I know that I already had a Stan tells Ford his past thing in chapter 2, but he didn't actually tell Ford anything other than this: That he was in Mexico on business and somehow teleported to Ford's doorstep. Nothing strange happened, other than being attacked, but Ford didn't know about the stab wound then. Hope that clears things up. I'm sorry I took so long. I'm sick and I just couldn't think of anything to write. Note: Some of the italics are Stan's writing and Stan thoughts, I hope they aren't confusing.  
Enjoy!**

" Are you ever going to tell me the story behind your injuries, Stanley?" Ford asked between mouthfuls of soup. He had returned from the grocery store with many cans and plenty of boxed foods. Not because he couldn't cook, but because it saved time. ( Okay, so maybe he couldn't cook.) After heating up a couple cans, they ate in silence. Ford didn't miss how slowly Stan consumed his food, and it concerned him. But so did most things these days. _Bill, Stan, my own health, the government, money and how I'm going to make it, gnomes and why they keep stealing my shoes._

Stan gave him an odd look. Ford wished he could still read his brother like he used to. He was so different now, much more reserved, gruffer, _tougher._ Stan gestured to his throat.

Ford nearly smacked his own face in realization. " Apologies Stanley, I forgot you shouldn't be talking. Perhaps I can find something for you to write with?"

Stan gave what Ford assumed to be a very pained shrug. " Stanley, don't agitate your back. I'm going to go find that whiteboard..." Ford scolded as he left.

 ** _Time skip 'cause I'm lazy when I'm sick._**

Stan looked up from his spot on the couch. Ford came back into the room and presented him with a small handheld whiteboard. " This should do the trick!"  
Holding the board, Stan tried to think of what to tell his brother. _Rico is gonna kill me if this wound doesn't, and I got the wound in a knife fight? Red flags anyone?_ Sighing, Stan picked up the marker Ford had given him and started to write.

 _Got mugged. Then I teleported to your doorstep, remember? I still don't know how that happened._

Stan handed the whiteboard back to Ford and watched Ford's reaction. Ford's eyebrows raised.

" Your handwriting has improved considerably."

Stan knew there was a large fancy word for what he was feeling, but he didn't really care at the moment. He just told his brother that he got _mugged_ and all he cared about was that Stan's writing was better than it had been ten years ago?! Well, screw that! Stan wrenched the whiteboard out of Ford's hand who gave an indignant, _that's the word,_ shout.

" Stanley, what is the meaning of this?!" Stan was writing furiously on the whiteboard, after a second he threw the board back at Ford. He caught it, barely.

 _Screw you. I'm never telling you anything again._

Ford read the board and looked up confusedly at Stan. " What?"

Stan took the board back.

 _I tell you I've been mugged, which was an outright lie by the way, and you only care about my grammar?! Well, screw you!"_

Ford read the board and a look of both offense and concern adorned his face. " You lied? And I don't just care about your grammar, although that has improved too."

Stan huffed.

Ford placed the board back in his lap, " Well, now that you've admitted to lying, why don't you explain how you got your laceration?"

Stan's face fell. _Dangit should have thought that through._

Ford seemed to sense his hesitation. " Stanley, I need to know."

 _You don't need to know anything_ Stan thought. Grabbing the marker up again, Stan tried to write his predicament into words. Ford did tell him about his weird demon issues, so Stan supposed he owed it to Ford to tell him the truth, now that he already got caught lying anyway.

 _Mugging isn't far from the truth, really._ Stan handed the board to Ford, who read it with growing concern. " Stanley, this isn't very comforting."

Stan just gave him another look, like _what is?_

Ford then did something Stan did not expect in the slightest.

" Alright Stanley, I'm pulling out the twin rules, you can't lie to me. Tell me everything of the last ten years."

* * *

 **I don't know what this is, help me. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, we're getting closer to revealing Stan's past but may avoid it yet.**

 **Stan: I can think of a few ways.**

 **Ford: This isn't healthy.**

 **Stan: I know.**

 **Ford: Why do you sound proud of that fact?**

 **Stan: Because I am. De de doo keeping secrets from my brother because my life sucked de de doo doo!**

 **Please read and review!**


	9. IT ALL COMES OUT

**Hey guys! Sorry, this took so long. I've been really busy lately. My mom is going into surgery Friday and everything sorta hectic around here, but your reviews motivated me to keep writing! So here you go. Another crappy (why are you reading this?) chapter:**

Stan drew a deep breath to steady his racing heartbeat. He scribbled furiously on the whiteboard.

 _I'm not sure Twin Rules qualify between us anymore._

Ford looked surprised. " What? No, they only become invalid if one of us breaks one. And I don't recall...oh."

Stan snorted. Whatever Poindexter was thinking of was probably a million miles from the mark.

" Was it that time I stole your comics to burn them? They were really awful, I'm not sure you can count that against me. Or anyone really. They were quite disturbing."

And there it was. Stan wanted to scream. Did he seriously not remember? Or did he just bury it in the confines of his convoluted mind?

 _Ford. We were supposed to go everywhere together. You broke that the moment you closed those curtains. And I don't care about the comics. Do you want the truth? That's fine. But it's gonna sting. Like this STAB WOUND. What's wrong with you?_

Stan's eyes weren't stinging with tears. They weren't.

Ford looked crestfallen. Maybe, if they had confronted each other properly. With both standing up and screaming, they could find the energy to be angry at each other, but now it was all just tired sadness, regret, and guilt.

Ford was feeling especially guilty. Of course, that's what Stan had meant. Ford wanted to look at his brother and see the man that had destroyed his chances in life. That had sabotaged his future. But he couldn't. Not anymore. He saw a man wore down from time, starvation, and pain.

It was his fault, wasn't it?

Ford turned his back on his brother. Ford failed to reach out to him after he was gone. Wait, Stan had never reached out either...

" You could have reached out to me. Had I known..." He let himself trail off has he observed Stan dissolving into tears. _I'm dreaming, right? Cipher! Get out of my head! Stan would never cry. He-he's crying, crap what do I do?!_

* * *

Stan was NOT crying. He wasn't!

Crap, he was crying.

The tears were hot and plentiful as they streamed down his face onto the whiteboard. _Dang it Stan, get it together! This is ridiculous.  
_ The sobs were painful and didn't help his throat. _How could Ford still think? Why? HE RUINED MY LIFE._

The thought was one that had never occurred to him before now, but it was true, wasn't it? Stan makes a mistake and he gets thrown on the streets at 17 and abanded by his own twin. And when they finally see each other again, Ford presses him for answers that Stan wasn't sure he had the strength to give. His hand was shaking as he tried to write on the whiteboard again. He gave up after the first attempt. _Why? Why is the universe set out to hurt me?_

 _Why?_

* * *

Ford watched Stan's somewhat pathetic attempt to write with his heart sinking faster and faster. This seemed more unnatural than having a dream demon posses your body. Stan was always the tough one. Ford couldn't recall a time where Stan had cried. Ever.

Trying to figure out what to do, Ford remembered what Stan would do when he cried. It wasn't often, usually from stress, but it happened.

Stan would sit next to him and hug him or ruffle his hair and make up the most improbable story. Sometimes it would get so ridiculous, Ford stopped him to tell him all the reason how it was impossible. Of course, nowadays nothing seemed impossible, and a few of those stories were much more probable, but they would help him nonetheless.  
Should Ford do that? What story would he use? Would Stan even let him? _The_ _scientist is successful, in everything but social cues. Not the best day to be socially inferior Pines._

Ford was about to do...something when Stan started to write again. Ford waited patiently while Stan's trembling hand moved across the board.

After what seemed like an eternity Stan turned the board to him. It read:

 _After dad kicked me out, I left. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I kept driving forwards. That first night was the easiest. Most people would say it was the hardest, but I had anger and pain to fuel me when I ran out of energy. I kept driving until I ran out of gas. It took quite a while. I wasn't sure where I was at that point. Eventually, I needed to eat and I looked through the bag dad 'gave' me. It had my boxing gloves, clothes, and a photo. I think Mom put it there. It was me and you after a boxing match. It's still in the car._

An eraser, a pause. Ford's mind was uncharacteristically blank as Stan wrote his life story on the whiteboard he had found in the attic. It continued;

 _It didn't have any money, so I used some of the cash that I had hidden in the StanleyMobile. You didn't know about it, it was for emergencies. I always had a weird feeling I would need it. I remember those first day's pretty vividly. After a while, I needed a way to bring in more money, so I put the boxing gloves to use. I was always won. Until I was asked to throw a match by my 'boss'. It only got worse from there. I've committed felonies, Ford, but not if it meant hurting someone. That was my one rule. I've ticked off a lot of mob bosses that way._

Another pause. Ford's mind was reeling again. _Nonononono!_ _This can't be...no._ Tears were streaming on both ends now.

 _I was hired as muscle a lot. One man asked me to transport some people out of state. They were slaves. I said yes, but I lied. I saved them, but almost died when they locked me in a trunk and left me in the desert to die. I chewed my way out, to put it simply, it was vastly more complicated, but I don't want to think about it. I've gotten caught a couple times when I was less experienced. Been to three different prisons. You know, I can speak Spanish now? I'm bi-lingual! I also have many a lot of fake ID's. To most people, Stan Pines is dead._

An eternity of pain. Which is really just a pause while Stan kept writing.

 _You wouldn't have heard about it. The only people who know Stan Pines is alive is you and Mom. Mom didn't tell Dad the truth. I'm glad. He said, 'good riddance.' when he found out about the accident. We've been keeping in touch, Mom and me. She was the only one who cared. She wanted to send me money, in the early day's. I wouldn't let her. I never told her where I was either. Did you know I was at your graduation? high school and College. By then, sneaking into places was sort of my specialty. I really liked your speech, by the way, Mr. V_ _aledictorian._

Ford wasn't sure how to feel about that. Stan had been there, but didn't come to see him? Stan seemed to know what he was thinking. He wrote:

 _I wanted to talk to you, but I thought you didn't want to talk to me. I tried reaching out multiple times. By phone. You looked so happy, those times I saw you, I didn't want to ruin it. I thought you were happy with me gone. So I never spoke to you when I called, and I didn't face you when I saw you.  
As for the stab wound? I was being attacked by a mob boss I ticked off. They tried to kill me. But like I said, I never lose. By the way, Rico is going to miss me when I don't show up at the...thing. He'll be after my blood. I wanted to leave, but I can't even speak for goodness sakes!_

Ford was feeling...feeling. He was feeling. Too much. But he did know one thing. He was angry. Angry at himself. At the people that hurt his brother. At his father. At the way that Stan seemed to have accepted this as his fate for his happiness. Stan endured this to make him _happy_. But he wasn't happy. He was scared and stressed and so, so tired.

And he couldn't take it anymore.

* * *

 **Haha! I'm totally evil. I'll update soon, I promise, I just have a lot more things to do. Don't hate me. I know this kinda sucks, but I'm trying over here! And if you recall, I make these on the spot, so I don't know what's going to happen any more than you do. I'm mad at myself for this cliffhanger!**

 **Stan: Yeah, this is very improbable. I never cry.**

 **Ford: Liar, you cried after the twins left.**

 **Stan: DID NOT.**

 **Ford: He did. It was very silly. He watched silly soap opera's and ate ice cream the entire day. I thought maybe he had been replaced by a depressed teenage girl.**

 **Stan: You joined me! In fact, he was even worse! He cried when count Lionel tried to take her back!**

 **Ford: HE HAD HIS CHANCE.**

 **Stan: Point made.**

 **Love you all! Please review!**


	10. hands you a new chapter

**HEY HO! I'm Back! Let's get this party started!**

 **.**

Ford stared at the whiteboard. He could hear Stan's ragged breathing. Everything seemed very still and quiet to Ford at that moment. He felt almost...peaceful?

It had always bothered Ford, not knowing things. Not knowing what happened to his brother. He never truly confronted the thoughts whenever they chose to appear in the back of his mind, but they always annoyed him to no end.

Now he just felt tired. Very, very tired. Gosh, when was the last time he slept? He needed more coffee...

Unfortunately, the bodies natural functions that allowed him life had other plans. The whiteboard slipped from his hands as his eyes closed. He could hear the questioning grunt from his twin before his mind slipped into the much needed, but irrationally avoided sleep.

 _He was in a building. It reminded him of a school. The walls were gray and the desks empty. Ford thought the place needed a bit more color, and suddenly, the walls were colored a light grayish blue._

 _' Oh, I'm dreaming.' Ford thought. Ever since his acquaintance with Bill Cipher, Ford had mastered the art of lucid dreaming. In fact, he could recall several pleasant dreams he had created for himself on the few occasions that Cipher wasn't communicating with him. In a single thought, the building melted away and he found himself in his favorite spot._

 _It was a boat. Ford was standing on the deck, overlooking the large expanse of water before him. True, Stan and his own childhood dreams were highly unrealistic, but Ford still found refuge in its simplicity._

 _The first time Ford had made this illusion, he had tried replicating his brother to sail with him. It didn't seem right, sailing by himself. Unfortunately, his irritation towards the real Stanley Pines turned that into a nightmare fairly quickly. Now, all was calm. He took a deep breath. He was at peace for the first time in what felt like years. ( Because it was, years and years of discontent.)_

 _Of course, that's when the telltale flash of golden yellow made its appearance._

 _WELL LOOK WHO IT IS, LITTLE 'OLE FORDSY! AND TO WHAT DO I OWE THE PLEASURE OF THIS VISIT?_

 _Ford sighed. He knew Bill had no real control over anything, the plate made sure of that, but that didn't make his presence any more tolerable. "This is not a social call Cipher. This is the body trying to keep me alive by forcing me into a deep REM sleep after having several disturbing pieces of information brought to my attention. My body has betrayed me, much like you did."_

 _The triangle laughed. OH, IQ! YOU WERE ALWAYS A RIOT! TO BAD ABOUT THAT CONSCIOUS YOU DECIDED TO GROW, HUH? YOU FLESH SACKS AND YOU'RE MORALS ARE SO_

 _ANNOYING._

 _At the word 'annoying', Cipher's yellow complexion (hehe, jaundice demon.) Turned bloodred and his voice deepened. Ford sighed. He was so done with this stupid nacho._

 _HEY, I HEARD THAT! IF I'M A NACHO, THEN YOUR NOT AS SMART AS I THOUGHT. WHO LETS THEMSElVES BE DECEIVED BY A TALKING HUMAN FOOD?_

 _Good point._

 _Ford ran his hand over his face. " Cipher, you have no dominion here, feel free to stay here and talk my ears off, but it's not going to do anything. You can't make me change my mind. I will never open that portal and you will never have my universe."_

 _OH, YOU'RE NO FUN ANYMORE. HEY! WANNA SEE AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE OF YOU?_

 _Ford almost laughed. " You're bored, aren't you? Don't you have important, destructive propaganda to deceive other people with?_

 _NOPE! YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE FOR ME SIXER!_

 _Ford shrugged. " Well, alright then."_

 _Normally, Ford would be screaming in anger or something. Not hanging out with his mortal enemy, but it wasn't like Cipher could do anything to him. The plate prevented that. Ford had been very pretty paranoid up to that point, however, hence the sleep and his avoidance of it. He was more concerned that Cipher would try to use others against him. Sleeping left his body vulnerable. Oh, and the fact that Cipher loved to horrify him with facts and stories that made his blood boil._

 _Bill snapped his fingers and something that resembled a window appeared above the water. Bill could feel the irritation emanating from Ford, who was leaning back in a deck chair. They both knew that this was pointless, but that made it all the more fun. ( For Bill.)_

 _The window showed Ford writing on a small piece of paper. A postcard. It read, 'please come' in large print. The scene fasts forward to the other dimension Ford pointing a crossbow at a man in a filthy red jacket. Real Ford recognized the man immediately. 'Why did I write to Stan to come?' Ford thought. The scene continued._

 _" HAVE YOU COME TO STEAL MY EYES?"_

 _" Yeesh, I can always count on you for a warm welcome."  
_

 _Other Ford pulled other Stan inside and checked his eyes for Bill's influence. Much like how real Ford did when he found Stan on his doorstep. Other Stan was understandably confused and annoyed.  
_

 _" Hey, what the heck!?"_

 _" Sorry, I was just...nevermind."_

 _Other Stan placed a concerned hand on Other Ford's shoulder. " Hey, what's goin' on? You're acting like Mom after her tenth cup of coffee."_

 _Real Ford laughed at that, that was more accurate than Stan had known. He certainly had more than the regulated amount, in that dimension, and everywhere else he existed. It was one of his defining characteristics. Using artificial stimulants to force himself into insomnia. Other him spoke, and his attention went back to the window._

 _" Stanley, I've made big mistakes, and I don't know who I can trust anymore."_

 _" Hey, uh, it's okay. Let's talk this through, alright?"_

 _Other Ford nodded. " I have to show you something. Something you won't believe."_

 _The scene fasts forward again. It shows other Ford explaining the portal and how he needed other Stan to take the journal. Real Ford thought that was ridiculous. Why not just tear out the pages with anything pertaining to Bill and the Portal, like he had? Other him had serious tunnel vision._

 _Real Ford watched as Stan and he started fighting. He stood when he saw other him push other Stan into the burning hot rune. He watched as other Stan pushed him into the portal in a fiery rage. Real Ford saw the immediate fear and regret in other Stan's eyes. He heard the terror in other Ford's screams. The portal shut down and Real Ford flinched as Stan started screaming and pulling and pressing levers. The window faded to black._

 _Ford took a steadying breath. " There is something seriously wrong with you Cipher, has anyone told you that?"_

 _YES! THANK YOU. THAT DIDN'T DISTRESS YOU DID IT? I MUST ADMIT, THAT IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE FORDS. HE'S EVEN MORE IRRATIONAL AND DELUDED THAN YOU_ _ARE!_

 _Ford just shook his head. The multiverse was truly fascinating, but Ford was tired of Ciphers games. " How long have I been asleep?"_

 _OH, PROBABLY A COUPLE HOURS. STAN SEEMS TO BE TRYING TO TAKE CARE OF YOU! YA GOTTA KNOW THAT YOUR STAN HAS BEEN THROUGH MUCH WORSE THAN HE TOLD YOU, RIGHT? I GOTTA SAY THOUGH, HE'S A TOUGH ONE, FEZ! REALLY SHOULDN'T BE WALKING IN HIS STATE, BUT YOU PINES ARE ALL SO STUBBORN._

 _Ford stood off his chair and started to prepare himself to wake up. It was difficult, but not impossible to force himself awake. He didn't need Stan worrying about him. And knowing Stan, he was probably freaking out._

 _Trying to ignore Bill's distracting babble, Ford slowly slipped back into consciousness._

* * *

 **Sorry about this, I wanted to feature more Bill, but in this au Bill is pretty much just an annoyance until he can get another person to possess. Hope you enjoyed!**

 **Stan: What was this? Why wasn't I featured more? This needs more...ME!**

 **Ford: Such a narcissist. * Whispers behind his hand to you, the reader.* He does it to hide his insecurities**

 **Stan: I heard that. I do not, I'm just naturally awesome and you're jealous of it.**

 **Ford: see?**

 **Idk I'm sorry. Hope you like! Please Review!**


	11. FIDDS WAS HERE

**SO HERE YA GO, FOLKS! A NEW CHAPTER, NARRATED BY YOUR GOOD PAL BILL!**

 **Go away, Bill. In fact, go die again. I hate you, Bill.**

 **AW, YOU'RE NO FUN!**

* * *

Stan tried not to panic as his brother slumped at his feet. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt Ford's chest move in and out in steady breaths against his legs.

Stanley knew that Ford hadn't been sleeping. You didn't need to be the man's twin brother to see the bags under his eyes and the way he swayed when he stood still too long.  
Stan didn't think when he slid off the couch, pulling his brother into the spot he had been in the moment before. Ford deserved some rest and if Stan couldn't get him to his bed, this was the next best thing.

To Stan, caring for others was as easy as breathing. He was used to being the protector. True, he was a criminal, but he stuck by his own. Loyal to the end. Just because they hadn't seen each other in ten years, didn't mean Stan felt any different. Ford was still a nerd. His nerd.

Truly, being sick was the worst.

To be honest, Stan was fed up. He was so done with being sick, with the mob bosses, with Rico. With magical teleportation. How was he supposed to get anything done in bed? Well, not a bed. He was currently sitting in the yellow armchair beside the couch. It was rather comfortable.

Stan's thoughts were a random mess of half-thoughts and emotions as he tried to sooth the muscles he had irritated when he moved from the couch. The food certainly helped.

The time passed in this fashion, with half-baked thoughts until Stan heard a thump.

He tensed, more than aware he was definitely not in a position to fight. The thump sounded again, and Stan realized someone was knocking on the door.

 _Maybe they'll go away._

Of course not.

Stan removed himself from the armchair and moved quickly towards the kitchen, where he found his bat. Why was it in the kitchen? Life's great mystery. Hiding it behind the door, Stan opened it cautiously. He was going to pay heck for this later.

He rasped out a strained 'who is it?'

The man outside the door gasped. Stan took a moment to take him in. The man had light brown hair, glasses, and was probably around eighty-five to ninety-five pounds. The man pushed through the door, surprising him and Stan grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the wall. Adrenaline keeping him from fainting. _Protect, protect, protect_ was the only thing he could think, and it kept him going as he growled at the intruder. The man gasped again, now with much more fear than before.

" Stanferd? Stanferd, let me go! Ya look horrible, are ya alright?"

Stan blinked. This man was a friend of Ford's. In hindsight, it was obvious. They both looked like sleep-deprived nerds. Stan, for the second time in what seemed like only a couple hours, he felt the rush leave him and his legs give out as he fell to the floor, oblivious to the concerned shouts of the man beside him.

* * *

Ford woke up. Stretching, Ford realized he was on the couch where Stan had been. Ford growled in anger, concerned that Stan was not getting the much-needed rest because he had fallen asleep. Ford slid off the couch to find his brother.

Walking into the hallway, he need look no further.

There in front of him was Fiddleford McGucket, begging his brother to wake up while calling Stanley Stanford. Ford's mind went blank as he worked on auto-pilot, pushing Fiddleford away and picking up his brother with a grunt. He could faintly hear the engineers whines of confusion as he lept up the stairs back to his bedroom. Obviously, they weren't having much luck trying to rest in the living room.

Ford tried not to let his emotions show as he worked. Stan had strained himself- _again._ The bandages were bleeding through and needed to be attended to. His mind was solely focused on helping Stan, completely ignoring his friend's gasps of shock and questions as he worked. Ford did notice that the questions stopped after a while and were replaced with retching.

Fiddleford was never fond of blood.

Once his task was finished and Stan was sleeping steadily on the bed, Ford washed his hands and finally took notice of his old friend.

Fiddleford was at sitting on the edge of the tub, still looking slightly green. Ford grimaced in sympathy.

" Do you need something? You look ill." Ford knelt before the professor to get on eye level with him and Fiddleford glared at him.

" Oh, so now yer talkin' to me? What's goin' on Stanferd? Who's that man that looks like ya? He tried to kill me! but by the state of 'im he shouldn't even be walkin'!"

Fiddleford wrenched a hand through his fluffy hair, a familiar motion of frustration. Ford frowned, he hated causing Fiddleford stress like that, but what was Fiddleford even doing here?

Ford placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, who looked into his eyes. Ford could see all the emotions there, laid out like a map. Ford ran a hand through his own hair, sighing in frustration. Nothing was going to be easy anytime soon, was it?

Ford looked back to Fidds, a small, pained smile on his face. " I'll answer all of your questions Fiddleford, but can you answer this? Why are you here? I thought you had..." Ford didn't finish his sentence. They both knew what he was talking about. Fiddleford sighed, his eyes falling to the floor.

" I'm sorry about tha' Stanferd. I shouldn' of abandoned ya. I actually wanted ta ferget everthin' tha's happened, but I realized tha' erasin' knowledge never helped any one and I came back to try and convince ya to destroy the portal once and fer all, but by the state of things I think you already have and it doesn't seem to pressin' at the moment. Now answer my questions please and thank you."

Fiddleford looked back up at him and Ford wanted to sob. There was just so much that was going on and it was just too much. Without realizing it Ford started to cry, tears flowing freely as he pulled his friend into a surprise hug. Fiddleford stiffened for a moment before relaxing, clearly still confused, but willing to let his questions wait until Ford was ready to talk.

Not once did Ford's grip loosen as he started to explain everything to Fiddleford, who rubbed Ford's back soothingly. He sobbed between sentences, this being the first time he really indulged himself in releasing all his pent-up emotion. Ford was very good at bottling it all up until he exploded. Although, the last time that happened he had exiled his brother to ten years on the streets. Ford tried not to think about that, dwelling only made the feelings worse.

When he had finished his story, Fiddleford pulled out of the hug, eyes warm with sympathy and pain for his friend. They sat in silence for a moment before Fiddleford spoke.

" Ya never told me ya had a twin, Stanferd."

Ford hiccuped a laugh, grateful for his friend for not pointing out how pathetic he was being at the moment. " Well, that's another story altogether. You see, Stan and me, we had a falling out of sorts. This is the first time I've seen him in ten years." Ford noted Fidds frown as he continued. " I believe some sort of creature brought him here. You see, I found him unconscious on my doorstep and he told me the last thing he remembered was sleeping in a motel in Mexico. I was going to take him to a hospital at first, but he was very clear in telling me he would refuse to go to one. So I've been treating him here. It's not gone very smoothly. He keeps over exerting himself. What did you say he did to you again? He attacked you?"

Fiddleford nodded. " I was knockin' on the door, when he opened it and I thought he was you and I pushed through the doorway to make sure you were alright, because ya, I mean he looks terrible and he grabbed me and pushed me against the wall. I thought you- I mean he was gonna kill me, that is, until he fainted." Fiddleford looked out of the bathroom they were still sitting in at the man sleeping on Ford's bed.

Ford followed his gazed and smiled. " Stan is very protective, and he's had a hard life. I am going to make a terrible decision and tell you that he was homeless for ten years. Don't tell him I told you though. He might kill me for telling you."

Fidds soft eyes got even softer. Then angry. Ford leaned away subconsciously. Fiddleford was terrifying when he was mad.

" Okay Stanferd, were gonna leave this bathroom, because it's weird we're still in here and yer gonna tell me why your twin brother was homeless for ten years and you didn't even mention him to me _once."_

Ford swallowed, hard. This was not going to be pretty.

* * *

 **And It's done! Let me tell you people, my laptop keeps crashing, so the chapter kept getting deleted because I didn't save it before it crashed. I hope you don't mind this turned into mystery trio. It's once of my favorites, and I think both Stans need help taking care of themselves, because they aren't very good at it.**

 **Stan: I liked the beginning part more than the last bit.**

 **Ford: Only because you like acting the hero. I found the last part to be slightly better written than the beginning.**

 **Stan: Whatever nerd.**

 **Fiddleford: What? Oh no. Not again. I keep appearing here!**

 **Stan: What?**

 **Fiddleford: Yes, last time it was somewhere else, I was with you two, but you both had wings and I was carried off by a pterodactyl.**

 **Ford: Fascinating! You must tell me more.**

 *** Very fast nerd babble***

 **Hope you enjoyed! Please leave reviews if you want lots 'o maternal Fidds in the next chapter! Idk I find it funny and sweet.**


	12. Yay!

**Here ya go, my lovely readers! ha ha, still can't believe people read this! Hope you enjoy! 3  
**

* * *

Once Stanley was all taken care of, Ford and Fiddleford went back downstairs to the kitchen, where Fiddleford started a pot of coffee. He had a feeling he'd be needing it. They sat in silence for a minute, Ford wasn't sure what to say.

" So tell me, why didn't ya mention your twin earlier? We've been friends for more than a decade and ya didn't even think ta tell me?" Fidds got back up when the coffee was finished and handed Ford a mug while waiting for a response.

Ford sipped the java quietly, contemplating how to continue. He thought saying 'We fought because he accidentally ruined my future, but not really and he was kicked out and I didn't do anything about it and he was gone for ten years and I was pretending I didn't have a brother during those ten years because I felt guilty and now he's skinny and half dead but he's still trying to protect me and he was always such a good brother, and I was awful and I don't know what to do now.' was a little too insensitive and desperate sounding, so Ford edited:

" It's complicated."

Fidds slammed his hand on the table, glasses glinting in the low light, making him seem more menacing. Fidds was very kind and often described as maternal, but he was also not one to upset.

" like darn it's complicated! Just tell me why ya never mentioned 'im before now!" Ford flinched. He was only making things worse, and he hated that, because that's all he ever seemed to do. Ford set the coffee down.

" Alright, Fiddleford. I never mentioned him because I was embarrassed, okay? I let my brother get kicked out on the streets at seventeen and I told myself he deserved it, for what he did to me! I realized, too late, that he didn't really deserve such a fate, no one does! And I was embarrassed for being so petty and pathetic I would let my own _twin_ survive on his own for ten years!" Ford's voice had started to raise and he collected himself again before continuing.

" I was so angry, I let myself go blind to the truth. Remember that story I told you? About the perpetual motion machine? How I said a fuse had blown, which is why I couldn't get into west coast tech?"

Fiddleford nodded, satisfied now that Ford was finally giving him some answers. Ford took a deep breath.

" Well, it wasn't a fuse. My brother broke it."

Fidds gasped.

Ford continued, " I confronted him about it, and he didn't deny it. He said it was an accident, he said he thought he fixed it..."

Ford couldn't look Fidds in the eye, the shame burning him alive. " Dad heard me yelling at him, I told him he had done it on purpose. I didn't believe him when he said it was an accident. Father came in and threw Stan out the door. He-he said that Stan wasn't allowed back until he had made the millions he had lost me. I-I, Fiddleford! I turned my back on him! I- I did this to him..."

Fiddleford pulled Ford back into another hug. " Stanford, it's alright. Ya feel bad about it, right? Yer tryin' ta fix it?"

Ford nodded weakly, everything was just too much. Fidds smiled encouragingly.

" Well, tha's alright then. I think yer brother forgives ya, by the way he nearly killed me, probably ta protect ya. Can't think of any other reason he would torture himself like tha'"

Ford sighed. He really wished his brother wasn't so protective and twitchy. He had nearly killed himself twice, fighting a threat that wasn't there.

" Alright, I'm gonna go fetch my bags, I'll be back directly." Fidds moved to leave, but Ford stopped him,

" What do you mean, fetch your bags?"

Fiddleford cocked a brow, " Well, I'm movin' back in 'o course! This place is a pigsty! And neither of ya look very well ter be honest, Ford. When was the last time ya had a full night sleep? I don't mean a couple hours on the couch, neither. I mean, you got ready fer bed, laid down and slept eight hours straight."

Fidds had interrupted him when he was about to say he had just woken from a nap before, effectively shutting Ford up. After a moment, Ford smiled. It was nice to have his friend back.

It was nice to be cared for.

* * *

 **Stan: I care for ya!**

 **Ford: Yes, but it's nice to have so many people care.**

 **Stan: Two people is not a lot, Pointdexter.**

 **Ford: It is if your an introvert and you only had two friends your entire life.**

 **Stan: Point taken.**

 **Please review!**


	13. Not yay

**Guess what? I forgot I had already written chapter twelve, so this could have ended up being a repeat. Thank goodness I caught myself before hand! Also, guess who's sick again? I know, you don't care. *Sigh* Here's chapter 13:**

* * *

The air felt like it had the consistency of water has Stan drew in a ragged breath, only to break into a fit of coughing. The nightmare he had woken up from left him shivering and he was suddenly grateful when no one seemed to be in the room.

Stan pulled the covers closer, letting himself sink into the bed again. Now he knew. If he exerted himself like that again, it would be for the last time.

Ever.

His trembling settled only slightly, and he continued to shake as if he were in the front yard, cover in snow, and not the warm confines of a bed. Stan lay there, unable to fall asleep with the way the images of his night terror would return when he shut his eyes.

In his dream, he had found himself back in the StanleyMobile, driving over a hundred miles per hour on a slick, icy road. Stan knew he was running from something, but what it was, he had no idea. Out of no where the car slid on the ice, hurling him over a cliff. Strangely, this did not disturb him. What waited for him at the bottom did.

He climbed out of the car when it landed. It was still intact. Stan found himself in a meadow of some sort, but it wasn't empty like you would expect a random meadow you crashed in to be. Ford was in the center, on the ground.

Being bludgeoned to death.

Stan tried to run forward, to help. But he couldn't move. He was stuck.

Helpless.

The dream ended then and he woke back up to the reality that he really was helpless, but at least in reality Ford wasn't dying. Ford was alive.

...

Right?

Stan knew he couldn't get up again. That would be signing his death sentence, and Ford would bring him back to life just to kill him if he did that. ( Stan had no doubt in Ford's abilities, in any task.) So, Stan stayed put. His fevered brain ( since when did he have a fever?) conjuring image after image of the many ways Ford could be dead right then. Hadn't there been an intruder? The memories were beginning to blur and Stan found the task of blinking becoming harder and harder to accomplish.

A squeak. A gasp.

* * *

Ford helped Fiddleford bring in his two suitcases, placing them in the room he used to occupy before. Fiddleford looked around the completely unchanged room.

" Why didn't ya just give this room ta yer brother, Stanferd? Why is he in yer room?" Fiddleford questioned as he unpacked, taking time to give Stanford another slightly accusatory glare. A trained eye could see the concern laced in it.

Ford shrugged, rubbing his neck awkwardly. " I-hem. It didn't really...feel right. This never really stopped being _your_ room, I suppose."

Fidds smiled slightly, alleviating the stress Ford had every time Fiddleford seemed mad at him. It really was like being glared at by an angry mother. Very, very uncomfortable.

" I suppose I can understand that, Stanferd. But where are you going to sleep? Stanley has to stay in bed, obviously, but this is yer home..." Fiddleford trailed off. He didn't like that Ford seemed so...out of place.

Ford shrugged again. " I still have that cot in the basement and the couch. I'll be fine Fiddleford." Ford moved to leave the room before Fidds could lecture him again. He could worry about his bad habits when Stanley was well. _Speaking of which, I should go check on him._

" Alright Professor, I'm going to go check on Stanley. He's been exerting himself way to much, he's probably getting worse." And with that Ford left the room and hurried up to his room/ temporary infirmary. _Guess I'm not the greatest caretaker. Why couldn't one of my PhD's be in the medical field?_

Ford opened the door to the room slowly, unwilling to wake Stan up if he was still asleep. He winced as the door squeaked. Then he gasped.

Stanley was trembling from head to toe, shaking the frame of the bed with the violence of it. Ford ran to his side and placed a hand on Stan's forehead. Ford hissed at he large amount of heat radiating from Stan's body. _He must feel like he's freezing to death._ _WHAT ON EARTH DO I DO?_

Ford ran right out the room again, intent on grabbing a cold rag and Fiddleford, because Fiddleford knew how to take care of sick people, right? Wasn't that his side study in college? Ford ran to Fidds bedroom and cursed when Fiddleford wasn't there. He was panting now, not accustomed to so much exercise, even when he wasn't haunted by the end of the world and everything else that happened.

Ford found Fidds in the living room, apparently he had decided to start cleaning immediately. Fidds jumped when Ford came out of now where. " Stanferd! Ya diddly-donged scared me!"

Ford ran a hand over his face, a pathetic attempt to dull the panic and stress he was feeling. " Fiddleford, Stanley is worse. Much, much worse! I don't know how it happened! Please, Fidds, you have to help..."

Fiddleford was gone before Ford had even finished his sentence. He returned with a bowl and a rag, the same things Ford had gone to retrieve. He only spared Ford a glance before running up the stairs to where Stanley was breathing what could very well be his last breaths.

* * *

 **READ THIS PLEASE:**

 **I apologize for yelling, but please listen. Yes I am sorry, don't kill me. The human body can only take so much and Stan had used up nearly everything he had protecting Ford. Even if it was pointless. Stan never knows when to quit. SPOILER: Stan doesn't die. Promise, I could never do that. I don't even want to think about that. I'll update sometime. Just, sometime. I have two other fics to update, people, don't rush me. So, this fic could go in many different directions. What if Stan wasn't sick? What if he was transforming into...something? What was that thing that made him appear at Ford's door in the first place? I know a lot of this feels like filler, and it mostly is, but it's how my mind works, and you need the lighter fluffy stuff to balance out the way this chapter ended. Please remember I don't know what's going on any more than you do because I make these up on the spot and post them. I'm just as horrified as you are. If you have any ideas to where you want this to go, feel free to P.M me or leave it in the reviews! Thanks for reading, my thirteen followers! He-he that's kinda sad when you think about it, but it's okay. You guys are awesome! Pfft.**

 **This chapter sucked, didn't it? Sorry.**

 **Stan: Yes it did. How dare you tease them like that?! I REFUSE to die!**

 **Ford: And I refuse to let him die!**

 **Stan: ...**

 **Ford: What?**

 **Stan: *Big goofy grin, sniffling* Nuthin'.**

 **Ford: ? You know I love you, right?**

 **Stan: I do now.**

 **Ford: *INFINTE REGRET AND SADNESS AND HOLY SNICKERDOODLE MY LIFE IS SAD WHAT HAVE I DONE WITH IT***

 **Carmen: I'm sick.**

 **Sorry, things get weird when I'm sick. And rambley. Sorry. Not gonna edit this though, I spent so long writing this and the story and the beginning and now this part and I am SO sorry. Love you all, 3**


	14. I don't know where this is going

**CHAPTER 14 PEOPLE! Enjoy: Stan meets Fidds (fer reals)**

* * *

It was three days before Stanley woke up again. When he did, he was delusional. He wouldn't stop talking in Spanish. Ford once asked Fiddleford to translate, the first time it happened. (Fiddleford knew several languages, he thought it would be useful if he were to go international with his work.) Fidds had gone pale and refused to answer. Ford didn't bother asking again.

It was a full week before the fever broke. When it did, no one was around. Fiddleford was trying to convince Ford to take Stan to a proper M.D.

" Look Stanferd, it's been a week and with a high-grade fever no less! i'm surprised he's still alive!"

" Don't you think I understand that, Fiddleford? I want to, but I already know that I can't. It would probably make things worse."

" And how on earth do ya figure out tha' one Stanferd?"

" I know my twin. True, it's been ten years, but he'll heal faster where he's comfortable, and he would kill me if he went to a hospital! Look, you have a medical degree, right?"

" I dabbled in it, sure, but even if I were a full blown clinician, I still don't have the proper medical equipment to take care of him properly!"

" Fiddleford, I know your concerned, but it was never really an option. I already discussed it with him before you returned and...let's say it did not go well."

Fiddleford sighed. " Alright Stanferd, we'll do it yer way. But I do not take any responsibility if he, if he dies."

Ford smiled, but it was strained. " I understand that, Fidds. But mark my words, Stan is more stubborn than an angry mule. He wouldn't let something as common as a fever take him out."

Fidds couldn't help but agree. The way Stan rambled on in Spanish, if even a part of it were true, Stan Pines was one tough stubborn man.

The two disbanded and Fidds left to Stan's room while Ford went down to the kitchen. They had been trading duties in shifts and it was Ford's turn to cook that day. Yay for boxed mac and cheese. ( He should really take some cooking lessons.)

Stanley had heard the entire conversation, quite pleased with the way it turned out. Although he wondered why neither of them thought of bringing a doctor to the house. He was glad they didn't though. He didn't really trust doctors anymore...

Stan blinked when the door opened and the room was flooded with light. The light made his headache explode and black dots flew around his vision.

" Stanley? Are you awake?" The voice was soft but unfamiliar. Stan flinched back in reflex. Something cool touched his head and Stan stilled.

" Shh, it's alright. It's Fiddleford. Your brother is in the kitchen. How have you survived his cooking, by the way? It's worse than my mama's. My pa was the chef in our family."

Stan felt the edges of his lips lift into a very small smile. The Fiddleford character was funny. Stan's voice was a whisper when he replied, ( Much to Fiddleford's surprise.)

" He nearly burnt the house down using the toaster when we were little. So it's improving."

" Ah! So the elusive Stan Pines really is awake. And how do you feel Stanley?"

Stan huffed a laugh. " I feel great. For nearly dying."

" Oh, well we don't know tha' fer sure."

" I do." Stan's whispered voice was terrifyingly confident. " I know what it's like ta be on the brink of death, Mr. Friend of Ford's. That was one of the closer ones."

Fidds paled again, _what has this man been through?_ But didn't say anything.

Fiddleford grabbed him by the arm as he moved to sit up. " Woah! Careful now, ya only jus' woke up! Ya need yer rest. And it's Fiddleford. I worked with your brother on a project of his."

Stan shrugged his hand off. " I know. The portal. He told me. And I'm fine. I've been resting for what feels like days. It has been days right?"

With those words Fiddleford forcefully pushed him back down. " Like heck yer fine! Your brother ain't fine and neither are you! Do neither of ya understand the meaning of 'Self-care?

Stan gaped at he little man who forced him down. It wasn't really much of an accomplishment, but Stanley had been forced to rest quite a lot recently. It was starting to confuse him. No one had ever cared this much, not even Ford, until now. Every time he got the cold or flu as a child, Stan remembered Ford telling him to take some medicine and that was it. If he would just take his meds, he would be fine. Now it seemed like he wasn't allowed to do _anything._

Fiddleford wasn't sure if he crossed a line or something when Stan gaped at him. " Are ya alright? I didn't hurt ya did I?"

Stan wanted to snort, but refrained. " You, hurt me? I think we both know I'm still capable of killing ya in this state. Not that I want to. Don't get me wrong, ya seem like a great guy, I'm just not used to doing...nothing. Being coddled, I guess? If I wanted to get up and leave the house when I had the flu as a kid, no one would stop me. Now neither of you nerds will let me sit up. Ford's been doing the same thing ta me ever since I showed up. 'Stanley stay. Stanley, don't move. Stanley, rest.' and now I've got a random nerd doing it too."

Fiddleford looked slightly sad at the information he let slip, but smiled. " Well ya sound a lot better. Want me ta grab your brother for ya? I should jus' take over the cookin'. Stanferd is truly the worst cook I ever laid my eyes on."

Stan huffed again and smiled. " Nice ta meet ya Fidds."

" Please, the pleasure's all mine."

* * *

 **Hehe, this story is so pointless. I could keep it up forever! I don't know when it'll end. Maybe I'll just have rico come after them and all three of them will have a ton of realistic and some less realistic adventures together.**


	15. YUSS!

**I'm sorry to those who have been waiting for an update for a while, I got busy with some other stuff, but here we go! Chapter 15. Healing for reals: BTW I hate Mac and cheese.  
**

* * *

Ford was wrestling with a package of fake cheese. The package was unrelenting.

He had searched for a pair of scissors, but he couldn't find a single pair. _Why is the universe conspiring against me? I just want to make some food, dang it!_

Ford leaned against the counter with a huff. He was about to continue the fight with the plastic packet when Fiddleford ran in, a large smile on his face.

" He's awake and callin' fer ya Ford," Fidds informed. Ford dropped the packet and ran out of the room. He was breathless when he got to the door to Stan's room. Because it was definitely more of Stan's room than it was ever Ford's.

" Stanley?!" Ford walked over and knelt by the bed. Stan was awake and smiling.

" Heya Poindexter! I gotta say, you got one heck of a mother hen for a friend over there."

Ford didn't say anything. He just nodded and laid his head on the mattress. Stan poked his head nervously. " Ford? Are, you...alright?"

" I just need a moment."

A look of horror crossed Stan's face when he realized how relieved Ford seemed. Ford thought he was going to die.

And he actually _cared._

Stan couldn't keep the grin off his face, even as he pulled his fingers through Ford's hair. " Hey! I'm fine. I swear! You didn't think a little fever was gonna do me in, didja?"

Sure, maybe Stan thought he was going to die, but Ford didn't need to know that.

Ford grunted. Stan could tell Ford was fighting off tears. " I was so scared, Stanley. Also, cooking is very hard. Dang, you for making me cook. I was surviving just fine on coffee  
until you came around, ya knucklehead."

Stan chuckled throatily. " I'm so sorry for making you eat properly-ish. Good thing we have that Fiddlesticks guy, right? What's the story behind him anyway?" Stan asked, attempting to pull Ford's thoughts further away from the spiral he tended to go down when things went sour.

Ford lifted his head off the bed and drew the chair up beside it instead. He clung to Stanley's hand and told Stan all about his college 'antics'. Stan smiled, contented. Things were gonna be alright.

* * *

 **Review if you want this to continue! I might leave it here, but I enjoy writing this au's Fiddleford and I wanna do more adventures with them. But I need some motivation here people! I believe in you! ( You can even review telling me this was absolutely awful and I will still be motivated by it. Because you read it. All the way through. Kudos to you.(please don't tho.)**

 **Please Review and Thanks for reading.**

 **Stan: I wanna punch some monsters! You gotta keep writing this au!**

 **Ford: I concur. I want to know if my cooking skills ever improve from 'childish' to 'tolerable'.**

 **Fiddleford: Hey Stanford! Greetings Stanley! I'm back. Do you guys always appear in this place like this? I find this all a lil' disconcertin'."**

 **Ford: Indeed we do. It's a fascinating thing actually...*nerd speak***

 ***Me and Stan die of boredom as they speak. They don't care as they continue being huge nerds***

 **( Jk, I'm a very big nerd, but I group myself with Stanley just as much as I do Ford)**


	16. Don't have a heart attack, please?

**HEYO! Guess who got back from the baseball game? GO ROYALS! *tears* we lost. Stinking Chicago white socks. (I'm kidding, I don't care for baseball that much, but the game was fun! We lost 4 to 7. Kudos for beating us at our home White Socks.)  
**

* * *

It was a beautiful morning, the birds were singing and the wind carried the promise of spring and warm days in the future. Stanley was done recuperating from his near-death experience after getting injured in a knife fight and had quickly fallen back into his old routine. That, coupled with the fact that neither Ford nor Fidds would stop making him eat second and thirds at dinner, allowed him to not only get back into shape but gain much-needed weight.

He was outside, running in the woods. He wasn't overweight like he used to be, he wasn't sure he would ever be like that again, but he did find that if he didn't run, he would become less agile, which wasn't great with the profession he'd taken up.

He, after little to no consideration, became his twins and Fiddleford's bodyguard. Ford had suggested it after Stan was given a clean bill of health since Stan did it anyway, might as well get paid for it, right? Stan agreed on the condition Ford didn't actually pay him. Stan thought that just living in a house was payment enough. Ford was a little miffed but didn't argue when he saw the stubborn way Stan was glaring at him.

Stan couldn't have been happier with his life than he was just then. He had his brother back, a place to live, a new weird nerd friend, and Rico was taken care of. (As in, Stan disappeared for two days, came home looking exhausted and Ford and Fidds were left in the dark as to where he had gone. Ford assumed and Fidds ignored.)

The only thing that really bothered him, or any of them really, was who?

Who kidnapped Stanley and plopped him on his brother's doorstep?

Strangely enough, that question was answered the week before. Stan chuckled as he recalled the event, hopping over a root as he did so. Gosh, running was so freeing.

 _..._

 _It was the middle of the day and all three of them were on the porch. Stan was spinning stories about his past. Ford and Fidds were unsure about the authenticity of the anecdotes but reacted accordingly anyway. Gasping when the story got dark or laughing at a silly plot twist you should have expected but didn't see coming at all. They were like this for an hour or so, just enjoying each other's company when all three were blinded by a white light._

 _Stan stood quickly, slipping into a defensive position, ready to fend off an attacker. Ford stood with him, but with a look of astonishment. The only one who looked truly afraid was Fiddleford, who yelped and shielded his eyes with his forearms. (Stan and Ford are two different kinds of reckless. But reckless all the same.)_

 _The light disappeared, and they quickly blinked the spots from there vision._

 _In front of them was a girl, no more than sixteen in age. She was dirty and wild looking, with torn black clothing, but her face was that of pure joy._

 _"Oh my gosh! Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Stan! You two are so cute! Like a pair of angry, astonished owls!" The girl squealed before her eyes lock on Fiddleford. "AAAH! So cute! I knew I made a good decision when I saved you, Grunkle Stan! Old man Mcgucket still has his sanity!"_

 _The girl saw there shocked, confused faces and collected herself. She laughed self-deprecatingly. "Sorry, got ahead of myself. I just wanted to see what I did! I suppose I owe you an explanation, but I don't have a lot of time, so listen closely. I'm Mabel Pines from another dimension, one where I fell in the portal that you made Grunkle Ford! It's sad because my twin isn't with me, his name is Dipper, but I'm ok. So I found this dimension, and I saw that there were these guys, right? Keep up. I think I was in Mexico? So I saw these guys with guns and they were going to a dirty motel and I followed them and I saw them go into your bedroom, Grunkle Stan! So I stopped them from hurting you, but your head did get hit, so you were knocked out, right? So I take you to where I know Grunkle Ford is living and I leave you and your car on the porch! I wanted to do more, but I timed out." She tapped a strange looking device on her hip and continued. "So that's why you were on the front porch! Sorry about that. So, I came back here to see how things turned out! That and I thought that maybe Grunkle Ford would be frustrated by not knowing what brought Grunkle Stan to him."_

 _She looked down at her wrist, which had started beeping. She waved apologetically. "Sorry, gotta go. Hope that clears things up. LOVE YOU GUYS! BYEEE!"_

 _The light flashed once more and she was gone. Ford called out as she waved goodbye, he still had so many questions. Like what was a "Grunkle", but she was gone._

 _They all sat in stunned silence for a moment._

 _"Well. I reckon tha' clears up one mystery, but now I have more questions than I could count."_

"That's an understatement."

Stan snorted at the memory now. Ford was a mess of theories and late night coffees after that until he got a very long, suspiciously glittery letter in the mail from the same 'Mabel' person, explaining everything. How she was their great-niece and a lengthy description of some of the dimensions she had been to. Stan still had a hard time swallowing it all, but after building an interdimensional portal in the basement, both Ford and Fiddleford took it in stride. Fidds was horrified to learn what happened when one used the memory gun like he had wanted to. He felt glad about his decision not to use it, and after learning what it could do to one's mind, willingly destroyed it.

Stan was half-way through with his jog, mindlessly running wherever his feet took him as he reminisced about that and the many other strange things he had witnessed since coming to Gravity Falls when found himself on the ground.

"What the?.." Stan rubbed his nose, which had bumped into something he couldn't see, causing him to fall backward. He glared at the supposedly empty air ahead of him. Nothing was as it seemed in Gravity Falls. Stan stood quickly and felt the area in front of him with his hand. There!

The air was solid! He could feel it, a cold, almost water like barrier keeping him from going any further. _Great, more mysteries. I should probably go 'n alert the bookworms._ _Poindexter will have a field day with this one._

Stan shook himself off and turned around to leave when he felt something tugging at him. He struggled against an invisible threat briefly before everything when dark.

* * *

 **Do you like it? I made a sequel-sorta. To lazy to make this into its own story. So, expect more chapters in the future! I thought of Mabel being the reason Stan was there at two in the morning so...Idk, blame insomnia. I'm sorry I couldn't make it super angsty, but I hate Bill and I don't know why the axolotl would do that or whatever so yeah, seems like something Mabel would do. Even portal Mabel.**

 **This was a lot of background in a very small chapter, sorry if you felt bombarded by the surprise of it all. Also, fun fact. I really like running.**

 **Stan: Not again! Leave me be, Woman!**

 **Ford: I found that plot twist amusing actually. Mabel is always welcome, although her own backstory is depressing, she is still a light of kindness and optimism.**

 **Fiddleford: Why was I the scared one?**

 **Me: Because we needed a scared one. You're the only one with a built-in 'flight' reflex. Stan only has 'fight' and Ford has neither. How he survived in the portal in canon is a mystery to me. Lol, hope you enjoyed. The more reviews the quicker the next chapter will come!**


	17. LOL I'm sorry- but not really

**Fine! I'm done procrastinating, here ya go. Tw: I use Fairy and Pixie interchangeably, don't hate me. Also, kinda kidnap? IDK, this is a weird chapter.  
**

* * *

Ford was sketching in his journal. He was sitting in the kitchen, listening to Fidds hum as they both worked. Fiddleford was making dinner. Fidds put down the ladle with a sigh.

"Stanferd, have ya seen yer brother? Dinner's almost ready and I don' recall seein' 'im at all taday."

Chewing on his pencil in concentration, Ford didn't hear him. "Hmm? Did you say something, Fiddleford?" Ford spared his half-drawn ghost-like lizard one last glance before turning his attention entirely to the professor. ( and nanny since the twins didn't know how to take care of themselves. )

Fidds sighed again. These two could be so trying at times, but he loved 'em anyway. "Yes, Stanferd. I asked ya if ya knew where yer brother went trampin' off ta? Dinner's nearly done."

"Oh." Ford shut the red and gold clad journal and thought for a moment. "No, I can't say I do. Although, if he isn't in the house, he's probably in the forest, getting some air or something. He was never one to sit tight."

Fidds brow furrowed in concern. "Well, I know tha' much. He's always up and about before we are, doin' tha' work out 'o his. But he does tha' in the mornin', right? Wouldn't he be back by now?" He shrugged off the apron he'd been using and placed it on a hook. (It read 'kiss me and you'll get a spoonful of anything but sugar'. The first time Stan saw him wearing it, he laughed so hard he fell to the ground, trembling with chuckles. Ford and Fidds both freaked out until they realized what was going on, which only made Stan laugh harder.)

Ford shrugged. "Hard to say, there were someday's Stan would spend all day outside, while I worked on extra-curricular projects during high-school. Sometimes, he would hang out with me while I worked, but was so quiet I forgot he was there. Stan is, as my mother rightly named him, a 'free spirit.' Although, I do suppose he might have left us with something if he decided to stay out today..." Ford trailed off, fingers twirling the pen he had been using as he thought. The longer he contemplated, the more worried he got.

"On second thought, let's go find him. I don't enjoy the thought of any of us being alone out in the forest, especially after dark, and it's getting late." Ford stood and went to fetch his trenchcoat. It had many pockets pre-packed with things he or any of them might need while traversing the weird and wild woods.

Fidds nodded in agreement and went to fetch his shoes, because who wears shoes when they've been inside all day?

...

Stanley blinked as he came too. The light above him was bright and made his head hurt as his eyes tried to adjust. They managed, barely, and Stan surveyed his surroundings with a gasp.

He was surrounded.

By thousands of teensy, tiny, pixie people.

Stan tried to sit up and grunted when he couldn't seem to move. He looked down to see himself lying on the ground, bound by what had to be hundreds of small ropes. It was then that he became aware of the obnoxiously high pitched squeaking of the winged pests voices. He growled.

"Hey! What's the meanin' of this!? Let me go!"

Stan continued to squirm as he spoke and succeeded in bursting a couple of the ropes nearer to his head. The squeaking got louder as more ropes came to replace them, and then bound his head also. He was effectively trapped. _Well, shoot. This sucks._

He glanced to his right, where a male pixie was sitting on a stand. He banged a stick against the wood of the desk and shouted something that Stan couldn't hear. _You'd probably have ta be a dog to hear anything that pitch._ _Wait a minute...Is this a trial?!_

It was indeed. The pixie on the stand was in black judge robes and the stick looked like a gavel, although Stan couldn't be sure. Everything was so tiny. _Could really use my glasses right about now..._

"Now that the accused is awake, we can now begin!" The fairy judge began. Stan was mildly surprised to actually understand what it was saying. Then he realized what was said.

"Hey! What are ya accusin' me of? I demand a lawyer!" Stan chuckled at that, still not quite able to take this completely seriously. He stopped when the surrounding crowd proceeded to boo him.

"SILENCE!" The judge piped. They stopped. The judge cleared his tiny throat. "You, stomper Stanley Pines of forest section 180p stand accused of squashing in the first degree, how do you plead?

Stan looked confused, "What is squashing? I still don't know what I'm being accused of!"

The judge looked irritated, and his wings fluttered in frustration. He took a deep breath. "You are being accused of Squashing a member of our community. The report is as follows,

"Stanley Pines, or the third stomper to live in our forest, was running yesterday morn when Mimberly was struck with a backhand to the face, crashing into a nearby tree. Do you have no recollection of the incident, Mr. Pines?"

Stan took a moment to take it all in. First off, these things had a complex social order and they had his and probably the nerds' names too. Then they were accusing him of something he never recalled doing, and probably happened by accident. Stan only had one question,

"What's the penalty for squashing?"

The judge smirked and pointed to something outside of Stan's field of vision. " The punishment for a first-degree squashing is a week to life in the pit."

Stan snorted, a week to live? How long did these little pests live?

"Alright, guilty as charged."

Stan was banking on the fact that the pit was nothing more than that, a pit.

The judge shrugged. "Works for me."

...

Ford and Fidds had been walking for more than an hour. The sky above was beginning to darken. Ford pulled out a flashlight from one of his many pockets and handed it to Fiddleford.

Fidds raised a brow, "Where do ya keep all this stuff Stanferd? I swear I've seen ya pull out more things outta that coat than I could keep in a backpack!" He said it with a  
laugh. He wanted to keep both of their spirits up, considering they hadn't gotten anywhere in their search.

Huffing a sigh, Ford smiled, then frowned, "Actually, Bill helped me design this trenchcoat. I would throw it away and burn it if it weren't so useful."

"Oh." Plans to brighten up the atmosphere officially failed. That is until Fidds fell flat on his backside. "What the backwater just happened?"

"Fiddleford! Are you alright?"

Fidds rubbed his nose, which he had hit on something, solid, yet not at the same time. " I'm alrigh' I just hit somethin' in front 'o me." Ford helped him up and they both searched the stretch of empty field in front of them. Ford gasped as he felt the cool, invisible barrier in front of them. "Facinat-"

The world went black.

* * *

 **LOl, Idk what just happened, as you can see, I am not a very serious mood. Haha, enjoy whatever the Freak this was. Thanks to Brenne for the prompt! I loved writing this, and it shall continue!**


	18. Insert awesomeness here

**I don't know what I'm doing anymore... I'm not sure I can write any angst for a while, I'm on a fluff/ humor kick.  
**

* * *

Stan looked up just in time to see something large and heavy heading straight for his face. He instinctively tried to move but didn't get anywhere, obviously. He was still tied up.

He groaned when the thing fell right on his face, nearly breaking his nose. (He could tell it wasn't broken, I think you all know why.) The Pixie People were all screaming in terror and Stan heard another _thump_ as something fell beside him. He turned to see Fiddlesticks blinking furiously on the ground.

"Wha'? Wha' jus' happened?"

Stan realized what had fallen on his face. "Ford! If you ever fall on my face again...I'll probably do nothing, to be honest, but that really sucked!"

The Pixies were starting to rally together and Fiddleford got to his feet and started snapping the ropes before they could bind him down too. Stan grunted his thanks and they moved to wake up Ford, who was still on the ground.

"Nhg..."

Stan shook his shoulders before giving up and hoisting him into his arms. That woke him up fairy-ly **(Get it? *Dies of shame*)** quickly.

"Hey! Oh, Stanley! There you are. Wait...are these...Fay?! Fiddleford, Stanley! We've crashed into a Fay village! Where's my journal?" He started searching his pockets. Stan groaned.

"Look, these guys have somethin' against all of us now. You can document them later! But we gotta get outta here!" Stan didn't put Ford down, since he knew that if he did, Ford would probably let himself get abducted by the screaming Fairies below them. Stan grabbed onto Fidds wrist and they booked it, heading towards the barrier.

"Wait! What happens if-" Ford was cut short as they fell through the barrier once more, and darkness held them.

*A minute. Plus some.*

"Ugh, I'm never doin' tha' again." Fidds groaned as he sat up. He rubbed his head where it hit the forest floor and looked around.

It was completely dark out now. Fortunately, Fiddleford never let go of the flashlight, so he clicked it on and...giggled.

Stan and Ford were both asleep, holding on to each other like they were both teddy bears. Fidds sighed.

Sometimes these two could drive him up the wall.

It was worth it.

* * *

 **I don't know anymore! I just want fluff! It's adorkable! *whispers* _help me._ **

**I guess we'll never know more about the pit...unless they go back. *review I guess if you want this to keep going because that's the only reason it is. Have any ideas for there next adventures?! Feel free to P.M me with your ideas.***

 **Stan: I think I'm gonna wash my brain out with Mabel-Juice (aka, the most toxic, and powerful substance on the planet.)**

 **Ford: I think I shall be joining you.**

 **Fiddleford: ...Me too.**

 **I'm so random guys...my brain went in all sorts of directions writing this, but I got kinda lazy. Aka I actually have a life to accomplish tomorrow. So...**

 **Bye Bye! Until later ya marshmallows.**


	19. And so it ends

**I feel like this has dissolved into self-indulgent fluff, so I think I am done with this au after this chapter, but feel free to read my winged Stan au, which runs entirely off prompts and send me your ideas. :)**

(ME: AAAAAAAAHHHH! I wrote this twice because my computer deleted the first one, but it was so good! AAAAAHHHHHH! So freakin' mad right now.)

 **PrincessMialyn prompt: Fidds and Stan body switch. (Not boxer au, so it's more canon to this story, sorry about that. Maybe in another fic...) A little angsty in this one guys, just so you know.  
**

* * *

None of them paid much mind to it at first.

It was a light blue in color, and soft to the touch. At about seven by six feet, the rug looked absolutely ordinary. Ford had bought it after an antique salesman told him it was cursed. Usually, Ford wouldn't buy into such propaganda, from a salesman especially, but this was Gravity Falls. Anything was possible.

It was now in the living room. After several experiments that yielded no results, Ford shrugged and figured it was nice enough to use either way. It wasn't ugly, and none of them really cared about looks in the first place. So in the living room, it stayed.

It was a week until anything happened.

Ford was in the kitchen, getting ready to call his brothers in for dinner. ( Stan, after watching bad comedies all night, was a little tipsy and told Fiddleford that he was officially adopted as a Pines Twin. Fidds laughed incredibly hard, but none of them really minded thinking of Fidds as family, so it stuck. Stan teased him by calling him his little brother because he was so small, even though Fidds was technically older than both of them.)

Now, Ford wasn't in the kitchen often, his cooking made sure of that. But both F and Stan were exhausted after saving his life several times that day after hours of field work out in the forest. So he figured they could use the rest. They were now in the living room, trying to wind down after the adrenaline-fueled afternoon.

Stan was fine. He was used to much more strenuous work out on the streets, what with his habit of getting into life or death situations with mob bosses. Although, he was finding that he needed a lot more rest than he was used to. After regaining a somewhat normal schedule again, sleep was a lot more prominent in his life. After the day he had, it wasn't absurd to think he was exhausted.

A snippet of the day Stan had: "Stanley! F! Look! A Leopard, bear hybrid! A Leobear! Fascinating!"...*growling*..."RUN! NO FORD, NOT TOWARD IT!"

Yeah. Stan was tired.

Fiddleford had the same day but was a lot more exhausted trying to keep all three of them alive, and considering he wasn't as used to any of this as they were...

Although, you had to give him credit. The guy could be scrappy. You have to imagine how strong he was, the way he lifted large pieces of scrap metal whenever he got working on a project.

So, there they were. Lounging on the couch after saving Ford's behind all day. Usually, Fiddleford would insist on cooking, but he knew that Ford felt a little guilty, so he let it slide. Besides, his cooking had improved from 'burning down the kitchen' to 'I can probably swallow this' so it wasn't like one day of Ford's cooking would kill them.

Probably.

Stan and Fidds looked up from their seats on the couch when they heard Ford call them into the kitchen, they shared a knowing glance, internally groaning, and got up together.

Neither of them was wearing shoes, because who does that after an exhausting day outside? They shuffled on the carpet towards the kitchen and Stan's hand brushed Fidd's when Stan moved to walk past him. There was a loud zap, then utter confusion.

"SIXER!"

"STANFORD!"

...

Ford had just called them into the kitchen. His heart raced when they yelled out for him, worried that something had gotten past the wards he'd placed on the house. Bill had stopped being a problem a while ago, probably going on to annoy and ruin some other dimension's, Stanford Pines. But that didn't mean they were safe. His feet barely hit the floor as he ran into the living room, only to stop.

Where was the threat?

Stanley and Fiddleford were both breathing hard, staring at each other and themselves in horror, but Ford couldn't for the life of him understand why. What was going on? He placed a steady hand on both of their shoulders, getting them to look him in the eyes.

"What's going on? What happened?" He asked, a little breathless from the sudden adrenaline rush his fear had given him.

Neither answered. Ford turned to Stanley. Surely Stan wasn't tongue-tied, he always had something to say. "Stanley, what's happening?" Ford tried to keep his voice level and calm, but it was difficult. The strained silence allowing fear to roil up inside him. He jumped when Fiddleford answered.

"Why is everything so... _big?"_ Ford watched as Fiddleford stared at the room in wonder and slight trepidation. Ford's head whipped back to Stan as he spoke. He watched as Stan waved a hand over his eyes.

"I-I Stanley, why can't I see?!"

Ford was confused. They were talking about themselves in the third person. Unless...but no. How on earth would that be possible? His mind switched back to Fidds as he spoke up again.

"No wonder yer scared of everything, Nerd. Sixer looks huge! I look huge! This is so trippy."

Ford's mind was spun for a loop. Fiddleford had never called him Sixer before. Ford looked to Fidds, or more accurately, Fiddleford's body. "Stanley?!"

Fidd's eyes met his and nodded. "Heyo." They turned to the real Fiddleford's consciousness when Fidds started biting Stan's hand.

"Hey! Watch it, what are you doing?!" Fid-Stan yelled. Pulling on his own hand to get Fidds to stop. Fidds whimpered.

"Are you always this itchy? And in this much pain?"

Fiddleford's face paled. "Oh. You feel that huh? Sorry about that."

Stan's body shook, "Sorry? Why are ya apologizing? No, you should be. You need glasses and obviously, lie when I ask if you're alright because this is not alright."

Stan shrugged with Fiddleford's shoulders. "Glasses are for nerds and I'm honestly used to it. The pain and itching that is. The scars are what makes me, and you I guess, itchy. It's nothin'."

"And the pain?" Ford interceded, "is that normal, Stanley?"

Fiddleford's body winced and cleared it's throat nervously, "Yes...? Look, shouldn't we be asking what the freak just happened? Enough about me already."

They both stared at him in silence. He broke after a moment, "Alright! So maybe a few of the scars I have are a little more damaging than I would like, I'm honestly used to it, okay?! Can we move on now? I'd rather not Fiddlesticks feel my pain for much longer, fear does not look good on our face, Poindexter."

Ford nodded and tried to concentrate, tried to push aside the horrifying truths that came to light just a moment ago and think through the confusion and fear. He turned to Stan's body, Fiddleford's mind, and asked,

"So what happened to cause this Fiddleford? I need more information."

Stan's hand ran over his face as Fiddleford tried to ignore the strange ache on Stan's back and the itching all over Stan's arms. " We got up. Moved to join ya in the kitchen, I think there was a zap? And then we were s-switched." Fidds bit down on Stan's fist again and Stan let him. He knew being in his body without being used to any of the aches and pains must be really uncomfortable. For Stan, it was a bit of a comfort. To feel the pain, to know that he was alive, that and it was nearly a part of him at this point. Most people didn't need that.

Ford's mind whirred a mile a minute as he thought. Stan could nearly hear the cogs spinning in his mind. He muttered under his breath until an idea struck him.

"Electricity you say, Fiddleford?"

Stan's head nodded.

 _Alright, so it was probably this accursed carpet. Guess the man wasn't lying._ Ford thought about it for another moment before he said anything.

"Alright, I think I have it. You two were walking on this carpet, built up a static charged, must have accidentally touched and the carpet's ability must be to switch ones consciousness with another. I believe if we recreate the event then you should just switch back."

"Are ya sure about this, Poindexter?"

"Nope."

"Well, alrigh' then."

Fiddleford and Stanley started shuffling against the carpet again, wasting no time. Stan held Fidds hand out in a fist and they fist bumped, which made Fidds laugh before the zap echoed in the air.

They both stared at each other and whooped in celebration when they saw they were once again in their respective bodies. Stan felt more centered, and wondered what all the fuss about the pain and itching was...it wasn't that bad. Fiddleford was looking at everything, assumably glad to have his own broken vision back.

Ford chuckled inwardly and started rolling up the carpet for further study. When he came back from putting it away, Fiddleoford was berating Stanley, who was actively ignoring him. Ford joined in, happy that everything was back to normal, but still concerned for Stanley.

When would they learn?

Probably never.

Ford settled down at the table, handing out the meal he had made (sandwiches, because no one can mess that up.) He thought about how his life was before. Fearful and high-strung those ten years were. Lonely and angry.

If the only problems he'd have to face were like this for the rest of his days, he would be happy to fight each and every one of them, as a family.

* * *

 **I am finished! It started Ford-centric and it shall end Ford-centric. It started with Stan angst and ended with Stan angst. Your welcome.  
**  
 **Stan: Dang.**

 **Ford: I concur.**

 **Stan: With what?**

 **Ford: I concur?**

 **Stan: Ford is broken Lil' bro.**

 **Fidds: I am not your little brother, just press the reset button.**

 **Stan: Since when does Ford have a reset button?**

 **Fidds: Since when that wasn't Stanferd.**

 **Stan: Ya made a Ford robot?**

 **Fidds: Maybe I made a robot and it happens to look like Stanferd.**

 ***Ford walks in. Sees them arguing over a doppelganger him.* Not today, not today. *leaves*.**

 **If you get any of those references you are my new best friend. Please feel free to review! And don't forget, I will take prompts for the winged Stan au if you want more twin Stan adventures, so don't be shy to send in your ideas!**


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